by Willa Okati
"Yours," Daniel agrees. "Now and always."
"Soppy old git."
"Same to you." Daniel wiggles his ass in invitation.
Rack, apparently, decides that action is the better part of valor. Daniel can hear him fumbling around again, and a small noise of satisfaction -- must be he's found the lube, then. It's a generous-sized packet, since both of them like a lot of slick, and Daniel wasn't lying when he said he had to carry with a Rack in his life. He'd put that one in his pocket just that morning.
He hears the sound of the packet opening, and then hisses as the cool liquid drips down his crack and onto his balls. Rack soothes him with small hushing sounds, using his talented artist's fingers to work the slick in where it needs to go. He lingers around Daniel's hole, rubbing around and around in small circles, then inserting a finger for Daniel to grab at.
Even the tiniest intrusion feels so good that Daniel moans, really letting it rip, and not just for show either. In the city, there's always a sense that you have to be a little quiet, because you have neighbors. Out here? Nobody to hear him scream.
Rack stops, probably because he's startled, then chuckles again and puts in another finger, beginning to fuck Daniel with them. Daniel groans and hisses like a cat in heat, loving every second of the foreplay. His dick is hard enough to touch his belly, and there's a wet sticky spot where skin meets skin.
Rack soon tires of just using his fingers, thank God, and withdraws them. Daniel whimpers at their loss even though he knows something far better is coming soon -- and so is he. Sure enough, he feels the cold touch of Rack's piercing and then the wet head of Rack's cock pressing against his entrance.
"Come on and scream for me, baby," Rack says, pushing inside. The drag of his frenulum ladder is, as ever, the most amazing thing, better than a French tickler. He pushes in to the maximum capacity, Daniel greedily grasping at the length and thickness of him and begging for more. "That's right," Rack whispers. "Take me on. Take all of me. You love it, don't you? That's my boy."
"Shut up," Daniel says through gritted teeth. "Fuck me."
"All you had to do was ask." Rack begins thrusting in and out, each slide a spine-tingling ripple of bumps and prickles that are calculated to drive Daniel insane. His ingenious ploy is working. Daniel's losing it and fast, sweat from his forehead running down into his eyes, stinging like hell but he doesn't care because this is just too good to write home about. Rocking on his hands and knees, Daniel thinks wildly that no tame cabin could compare to this, this wild fucking in the outdoors, all by themselves.
It doesn’t last long enough; it never does. Each fuck always leaves Daniel hungry for more, but he has a feeling that if he asks nicely he'll get his own turn. Besides, his cock is about to burst with its own payload, and if Rack hits his sweet spot one more time…
Rack hits, and Daniel comes, spraying semen all over his clothes. Damn. Tactical error. Right now, not something he's too worried about, because Rack is groaning and shouting his name and coming in his ass like a fire hose gone crazy.
When it's over, Rack's lighter weight drapes itself along Daniel's back. He's breathing heavily, but not so winded that he can't trail his tongue along Daniel's spine, delicately writing his own name. Every appendage on the man is equally talented.
Daniel shrugs and shifts them so that they're both lying on his clothes, more or less protected from the forest floor. Rack gives a huge sigh and spoons Daniel up nice and tight, cool metal against metal and warm, sweaty skin against skin.
"Got to hand it to you," he says after a long, comfortable pause. "You've got a proper way of making a man forget his troubles."
Daniel laughs.
"Oh, now, I'm serious." Rack pokes him. "Seriously, now. That was a fuck to remember, Dan. Don't know as you noticed anything over that racket you were making --"
"Hey!"
"-- but this was un-fucking-real. I saw an owl fly past when I was inside you. Heard nightingales sing. Saw the moonlight glowing on your back, on that pattern specially designed for you and you alone." Rack nestles his chin into the crook of Daniel's shoulder. "Who needs a cabin and a campout, then? This is romantic enough for me."
"And so say all of us," Daniel replies, covering Rack's hand with his own. "All the same, don't we always find ourselves in the strangest places?"
"Damn right. Never do mind it, though, do you?"
"Nope." Daniel lets his head flop down contentedly. He hears the wind rush through the trees along with Rack's slowing breaths, and… something rustling?
He stiffens. "Rack," he says, very, very quietly, "don't move. But look up to my right. Quick, before it runs away."
A deer is walking through the trees, snorting and huffing as it has to dodge branches. Its rack has to be ten feet wide from tip to tip, and it's bigger than Rack's motorcycle -- twice the size. Majestic and completely unafraid, it pauses when it sees them and then walks on, off on its own business.
Rack lets out a whoof, apparently too shocked for words. "Not bad, huh?" Daniel asks, rubbing his lover's hand, nudging his tattooed finger. "Not bad at all."
He feels Rack nod, can sense his wonder, and although they might be lost, everything else is all right with the world.
Stranger Places
Copyright © 2006 by Willa Okati
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press: Single Shot electronic edition / November 2006
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680
